


Papi Don't Preach

by CatAvalon (CazinaIna)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Crack Treated Seriously, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Finger Sucking, Insults, Lace Panties, M/M, OtaPliPo, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rimming, Smut, Spit As Lube, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, Yuri Is A Little Bitch, dick piercing, papi kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 04:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11372799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CazinaIna/pseuds/CatAvalon
Summary: “Blow me.” The command is filthy, barely above a whisper, going against every innocent thing Yuri’s just contemplated, because even Georgi can’t make the lewd request sound lyrical. “Blow me whilst he fucks you. I want to feel you gagging on my dick.”





	Papi Don't Preach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ded_i_am_just_ded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ded_i_am_just_ded/gifts).



> this is not the content of mine you were looking for  
> i'm sorry  
> (i'm not)
> 
> Happy belated Birthday to my main girl Beka- without you my obsession with my boi Georgi would have stayed inside my head where it probably belongs  
> I love you, I'm sorry it took me so long but it's here now
> 
> (if there are any spaces after my italics, it's because ao3 fucking hates me. I tried to catch them all, hmu if I missed some)
> 
> Also big up to Francowitch for checking this over for me ^.*

“Did you hear that?”

Considering his ears were currently filled with the wet sounds of Beka’s dick sliding down his throat- no, Yuri did not. Nor did he want to hear anything else, the only exception being low groans reverberating off locker room walls, his own moans muffled by a mouthful of man meat, and _just maybe_ the eventual gags he tries to suppress as he takes Otabek in deeper and deeper.

When Beka repeats the question, Yuri just hums, nose nestled against wiry curls that retain the smell of musk and the citrus shower gel they had used to scrub down after their _wake up_ fuck this morning. The vibration of his voice seems to work wonders because Otabek’s hips stutter under his palms, the sudden jab of his length bringing tears to his eyes but not quite enough to warrant him to ease off. Yuri can’t help but preen as his jaw steadily aches and knees grow numb, because only he has the power to transform this usually reserved man into a shuddering mess of silent curses and prayers to deities he doesn’t believe in.

It’s when he traces a throbbing vein with the tip of his tongue that he gets his best response, something that can only be described as a sob escaping from Beka’s lips and _wow-_ Yuri doesn’t think he’s ever made Beka fucking _cry_ before, but it’s sexy as hell. So are the hands knotted into his hair, tugging at the roots like they were trying to pull weeds from soil, as are the constant stream of pleas that sink straight to Yuri’s dick.

 _Pleasepleasepleaseyurapleasestop_.

 _Huh?_ Yuri pulls away with a lewd pop, a concoction of saliva and precum smearing down his chin. There’s no shame when he uses the sleeve of Otabek’s Team Kazakhstan jacket to wipe away the evidence, nor is there when he places a gentle kiss to the flushed tip of his penis before sinking back on his haunches.

“What’s wrong?” It’s hard to look at Otabek when his dick is just _there_ , in all of its eight inch glory, glistening like a beacon, and Yuri’s mouth is a moth that very much wants to feel the burn as his lips stretch around it. He manages to raise a questioning eyebrow, taking in the flush to Beka’s cheeks, the way his hair sticks to his forehead in damp curls, the swollen red of his bitten lip. When he doesn’t get a response, Yuri just shrugs and swirls his tongue across the slit, indulging in the slightly bitter taste that is so completely Otabek.

Only when he’s halfway down the shaft once again does he hear another cry- this time, much louder, verging on animalistic, radiating from the showers, and the realisation that they aren’t alone sinks down his throat like honey, sweet, sticky and thick.  Just the thought of someone being there all this time, overhearing every little sound, maybe even able to see Yuri in his most vulnerable state, choking on the cock he loved so much, is almost enough to make him come right there, untouched in his leggings.

When Yuri doesn’t stop his descent, Otabek grabs him by the chin and tears him off, fingers rough, rugged, pressing painfully into his flesh, and God, that isn’t helping his situation down south either. “Someone’s here.”

“Let them watch,” Yuri hisses, staring defiantly. Everyone knew they were together, everyone knew they couldn’t dream of touching what they had, couldn’t even stir it with their breath if they tried. It didn’t matter to Yuri if someone witnessed them together like this- it would only solidify that Otabek is his, and his alone.

“Yura.” It’s a tone of warning, dark and deep like the first grumble from a bear- the one that raises red flags in the form of twin blushes on his cheeks, alarm bells stirred by the thrum of steady breathing, a threat almost tangible in Beka’s controlled stare. Normally it’s reserved to make Yuri pliant and pliable, to get him to behave in bed or in public, and along with the thrill of danger comes the knowledge he’s probably about to be thrown against a wall, a headboard, the bathroom sink. It’s supposed to make Yuri do what he’s told, yet right now it’s driving him to do the complete opposite.

“Please, Beka. Let them see. Let them see you’re mine,” he breathes, just millimetres away from the object of his desire. Another kiss is planted to the still leaking head, and when Yuri glances up, the smouldering embers of Beka’s dark eyes have burned to soft charcoal and Yuri _knows_ \- it’s all but confirmed when a thumb massages the throb in the hinge of his jaw, urging him closer and closer with that tender touch that could lead him to the end of the world.

So Yuri flashes that wicked grin, the same one that bewitched Beka the first time he was on his knees before him, and likes the bitterness from his lips as a fist grips the hair at his nape. Victory had never tasted as good as Otabek Altin’s arousal, the feeling of him sliding down his throat better than any medal that could hang from it. And any power he felt on the ice could never rival the feeling of being another’s undoing, and if the jerking of Otabek’s hips is anything to go by, he was getting pretty close.

Yuri’s just drawing away to focus on the slit, a sure fire way to make Beka lose complete control, when it’s there again. A sob, more resembling a howl than anything else. Now Yuri isn’t exactly an expert in the vocalities of pleasure, his own experiences being his own mewling and the Beka’s barely there grunts, but either this guy was having the wank of his life, or there was something well and truly wrong.

Yuri desires nothing more right now than to make Beka come, preferably on his awaiting tongue but his face would do too. He can’t all quite believe it when he pulls away with another one of those wet smacks, sighing over the shine of saliva that seeps down the shaft, because _fuck_ ,  he’s actually about to be a decent person for the first time in his life.

“Keep it warm,” he mumbles, but Otabek is already struggling to tuck his dick back into his sweats. Yuri can’t help but shoot him a dirty look, but the obscene marbling against grey fabric is almost enough compensation for the premature end of his mid-morning snack. As he stands, there’s a sharp pinch to his ass cheek, and the yelp that bounces off the walls drowns out the crying until Yuri’s sure it’s stopped completely. But then he ventures closer to the source, and suppressed sniffles fade into woeful whimpers, each individual decibel grating at his bones.

“Oh for the love of _God_.”

It should be a surprise, it really should, to see Georgi cowering in the far corner of the shower block, hands raking through his preposterous pompadour- but it isn’t. Who else could possibly be pathetic enough to have a mental breakdown in the locker room? “Come on, Popovitch,” Yuri says, sauntering towards him, very much aware of his erection straining the front of his leggings,  “Was the show really that bad?”

“S-shut up,” he growls, voice carrying a little bite despite the tears that dampen it. “Do you really think I wanted to be trapped here listening to your locker room fantasy?”

“Yes,” he says without missing a beat, because for all Yuri knew that could be something Georgi is very well into. He’s heard worse speculations drifting around the rink: knife play, bestiality and the most popular rumour by far, _necrophilia,_ spreading like wildfire after a junior skater took a picture of him reading a book on postmortem photography. If voyeurism is what floats his boat- well, it would be a relief. “Either get up or shut up. You’re kinda ruining the mood.”

“Yura.” Whilst Yuri was born of grace and grandeur, it’s Otabek that possess cat-like tread. There’s an arm winding around his waist now, bringing him to his chest, bulge pressing into his ass. If Yuri grinds his hips back, well, who could blame him? Otabek’s practically inviting it at this point, what with his suggestive touch and gravelly voice too close, too hot against his ear.

“Do you know what I want?” Yuri says, letting his head loll back against Beka’s shoulder, but his eyes never leave the man before him. A kiss is messily placed on the corner of his mouth, Otabek’s second way of trying to shut him up, but Yuri isn’t having any of it. “I fancy a shower, don’t you?” Beka’s hold on him stiffens, and it allows Yuri to turn in the circle of his arms, to mouth at his Adam’s apple and work his way around to graze his teeth over the pulse that flutters in his throat. Behind him, Georgi groans, and whether it’s from the emotional turmoil in his head or the way Yuri’s not so subtly rubbing himself against Beka’s leg is indiscernible. “I’m feeling a little hot and bothered.”

“Yuri.”

“Oh come on, Beka, let’s throw the old dog a bone,” he purrs, nipping at his earlobe playfully before drawing away. “Preferably yours, though- I’d rather keep his drama firmly away from my dick.” Yuri doesn’t miss the sudden darkening of Otabek’s eyes, either in disgust or arousal- or both. This time when he leans in, he makes sure to align their crotches _just so_ , to eat the groan from the tip of his tongue, breath ghosting his lips as he murmurs,  “Or maybe he could just watch you fuck me into the tiles.”

When Beka’s hips stutter into his, Yuri knows he’s got him wrapped tight around his little finger. Whilst he’s never professed his interest in exhibitionism, Yuri’s pretty sure Otabek wouldn’t fuck him so openly in public places if he wasn’t secretly hoping someone would walk in, to witness the intimacy of skin slapping against skin, the way their bodies fused together in flesh and fervour, their heaving chest and heavy breaths.

And Yuri wants it, too. Wants someone to observe as he comes on Otabek’s dick, wants them to see his sweat slicked skin, semen streaking his stomach, catching in his hair if Beka’s done his job well enough. And if that person’s going to be Georgi _fucking_ Popovich, he may as well make it count.

It takes an iron will to break the allure of Beka’s touch, but he manages it so he can crouch before Georgi, pinching his chin so he’s staring Yuri straight in the face. There're mascara tears smudged against high cheekbones, and what appears to be the residue of glitter clings to his lashes like shimmering drops of dew. Sucking his teeth, Yuri uses the corner of Beka’s jacket, the same sleeve that’s smeared with precum, to wipe under his eyes. “Would you like that, Georgi? Would watching Otabek pound into me make you feel better?”

It’s quiet between them besides a few, stuttery hiccups and the sound of Otabek’s shoes against the tiles. Eventually, Georgi turns away, staring at a showerhead as if his own mind could magically turn it on and dampen the mood. Then he bites his lip, running his hands over his face so that kohl streaks his face like war paint. It’s neither a yes or a no, but Yuri’s not going to let that deter him. “Just say it. Say it and we’ll leave and you can go back to crying by yourself like the _big baby_ you are.”

Standing, Yuri shucks off the jacket and tosses it away. Indigo eyes widen as, slowly, he peels his shirt up and over his chest, leaving him exposed in just leggings that still sport a very obvious tent in the front. A hand brushing the dip between his shoulder bones stops him from hooking his fingers into his pants. Beka’s skin is hot in comparison to the cold air that caresses his naked skin, and he can’t help but sink back into the touch.

“Do you really want this?” Hair is lifted away from his neck, replaced with the nick of teeth against the knoll at the top of his spine. Yuri can’t stop the full body shudder the ripples through his muscles, especially as teeth turn to tongue and Otabek’s licking a trail up to his hairline.

“It’s Georgi,” he says with snark breathy with arousal, ignoring the small noise of complaint from the subject of their conversation who’s quivering before them. “No one would believe him even if he tried to tell.”

It’s not that Georgi’s creepy exactly, more so it’s just his overdramatic tendencies giving him a haughty air of someone you’d rather avoid. No one wants the dreariness of Poe withering their moods as they eat equally wilting salads, nor do they want to hear countless tales of lovers lost and hearts left bleeding, punctuated with the scrape of blades carving into ice.

And the _tears-_ like right now, he always seemed to be _crying_ , over the most absurd little things. One of his most famous breakdowns was over some movie adaption of a vampire novel, back when Yuri was ten, too innocent to understand what was really meant by _steamy_ _staking_ and _sexual stalking_ \- as Georgi had so lovingly put it.

Yuri’s focus is drawn back to the present as fingers creep up his sides, digging into the gaps between his ribs, tantalisingly pulsing until he’s arching back into Beka’s touch. “Please, Beka. _Please_.”

Otabek seems to consider everything, forehead dropping to the crook of Yuri’s neck as his fingers drift over the toned muscles of his stomach, searching higher until they’re brushing over his nipples. When Yuri shudders, Beka gets a little bit braver, erogenously rolling them between his thumbs and forefingers until he’s gasping for breath, knees weak and threatening to give. Sometimes, Yuri thought he could come just from this, the direct, lascivious attention Beka pays them. Slow strokes and sharp pinches, a wet tongue to soothe the pain, and teeth to deliver it once again. Turning now, he hopes Beka will get the message and use his goddamn mouth, but instead he’s met with eyes that aren’t even looking at him.

Pouting, Yuri captures Otabek’s bottom lip, biting hard. There’s a hiss of displeasure, and then he’s being thrown against the wall with such force his head recoils from the tiles. Their kisses are hot and deep, of dancing tongues and wandering thumbs dipping into waistbands. It’s these moments Yuri loves the most, the ones where Beka’s riled up with a hunger only his body can sate, when the promise of sex is in the same air they breathe, in the way their bodies interlock and weave together like a puzzle sculpted of arousal.

It’s these moments that are kept in relative privacy, held in steam clouded memories, in suggestive photos saved on phones, hidden in their apartment, a hotel room, a locked restroom door.

In _this_ moment, though, the electricity they create crackles through the air, the friction between their grinding bodies creating a static that’s blazingly hot and utterly untameable.

When Beka’s mouth works it’s way down his neck, Yuri allows his eyes to droop open, just to see if _this_ is affecting Georgi as much as he’s longing it too- and he’s not disappointed. Georgi’s hair stands on end as if caught in the middle of a thunderstorm, one hand grasps desperately at the roots whilst the other rests upon his crotch. A part of Yuri thinks he should be a little freaked out, being viewed by someone he doesn’t really know. Someone who’s in their thirties, someone he’s known before he ever uttered his first curse, someone who could be a virgin for all he knew. It wouldn’t surprise him, not with the stories he’s heard from Viktor, or from his own observations of all of his shitshow relationships.

Yet the weight of another’s gaze acts as a catalyst, raising the temperature wherever skin kisses skin, Otabek’s touch almost scalding as he grabs at his waist, entwines himself into his hair. Just seeing the same intense lust reflected back at him in the eyes of someone else leaves Yuri wanting, craving, _begging_ for more.

“Touch me.” It’s a strangled plea, desperate even, caught deep in his throat under the trap of Beka’s lips marbling his skin with bruises. And whilst it feels good, as everything Otabek does to Yuri does, it’s not what he wants. What he really wants is something on his dick: a mouth, a hand- Yuri would even bury himself in Georgi’s ass at this point- he just desperately wants to get off.

So Yuri does what he always does. Scoffs, loses patience, takes control. All but growls as he guides Beka to where he’s straining, surely dampening the fabric of his leggings, and bucks pointedly into his palm. “Please, Beka.”

To seal the deal, Yuri drops his mouth to where the cut of Otabek’s shirt reveals the crest of his collarbone, lapping at the dip of his bones just how he likes it. And that’s how Yuri Plisetsky gets his own way, as he always does. Lycra is hastily pushed mid thigh and finally his dick is free, flush against his stomach, head swollen and weeping. A gasp comes from behind, and Georgi’s staring in awe, mouth agape, a look of absolute fascination smoothing the creases around his eyes as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen another man’s penis.

Smirking, Yuri stands so Georgi can get a better view, wrapping a hand around himself so he can languidly play with the foreskin, tugging it slowly over the tip and back again, over and over, and Georgi tracks the movement like a cat hunting its prey, licking his parted lips as Yuri spreads slick with the pad of his thumb.

“Do you like that?” It’s a stupid question, because _of course he does, just look at him._ Pale cheeks are painted the soft pink of arousal, and there are purpling crescents gnawed into the swell of his bottom lip. Yuri takes his time ridding himself of his clothes, making sure to turn his back as his pulls his pants off the rest of the way, exposing his hole that’s probably still raw from this morning.

“Do you like seeing me with my dick in my hand?” He’s back to stroking himself, feet planted wide so Georgi can see everything, the bulge of his balls, the fresh offering of marks prayed into his thighs by a sinner’s mouth.

It feels good, staring down upon someone as if he’s a God. Eros in his true form, virile and erotic, irresistible even to the strongest of men. Fuck, you just had to look at Otabek to know Yuri possesses some sort of carnal charm that could bring anyone to their knees.

So he takes his time, enjoying the moment. Observes Georgi observing him, how his lips glisten with saliva, how his tongue can be seen, prisoner behind his teeth. Yuri’s tempted to rest his dick there, just to see what Georgi would do. To feel his breath against the sensitive skin of his head, to indulge in the welcoming warmth as he thrusts gently in, to experience this luxury from someone other than Otabek, the only person who’s ever had the pleasure. And whilst he loves getting head from Beka, loves the way he worships every millimetre with his tongue, consuming each twitch, every drop of cum like it’s his last supper, he wonders how Georgi would choose to praise him.

Would he be inexperienced and clumsy, with too much teeth and not enough spit. Timid and virginal, with the promise of something greater that comes naturally with practice. Or maybe, _just maybe_ , Georgi isn’t quite as straight-laced as he seems. Maybe he’s had a cock in his mouth before. Maybe he knows exactly how to taunt and tease, to make someone cry out, to curse the heavens above them and hell below as they release.

“Answer me,” Yuri demands, only his voice breaks around the last syllable as Otabek’s hand joins his own. A moan is bitten into his cheek as deft fingers play him with the intention of making him sing.

“Yes,” Georgi confesses, not even attempting to hide the fingers that slip into his pants.

“Good,” Yuri hums, and there’s a prickle of stubble as Otabek rubs his chin against the column of his throat, the slight burn it brings heightening the sensations in his dick. “You’re going to love seeing one in my ass, then.”

A grumble vibrates through Otabek’s chest, and Yuri feels it deep in his bones, the first clap of thunder before the storm hits. It’s just as he’s beginning to lose himself that Beka lets him go, the sudden loss of contact causing a whine to build in his chest, and Yuri rushes to mask it with a scowl.

“You’re a tease, Yura,” Beka says, incisors impaling the shell of his ear.

“You love it.” And he’s tugged so hard to Otabek’s chest that it makes him dizzy, the fast, urgent kisses only intensifying the smog clouding his mind. Yuri’s half grinding against the thickness of Beka’s thigh, half trying to rip every last scrap of fabric from his body. It’s made increasingly harder as his ass is groped, muscles being massaged until he’s panting, dick pulsing with his raging heart beat. All he wants is to taste the flesh of Otabek’s heaving chest, and he’s finally able to as the shirt comes off, latching onto a nipple whilst he fumbles to push down his sweats.

The rousing resonance of ragged moans and the salacious slap of skin on skin fill the showers, and finally Beka’s naked too, large hand stroking their dicks in tandem, the filthy friction forcing his head back in ecstasy. Even now, when all Yuri wants to concentrate is the heat that’s building between his legs, tingling in his balls, at the base of his spine, he’s distracted by Georgi, hunched over, a hand buried between his thighs.

“For the love of God,” Yuri curses, eyeing the bulge that strains against the seams of the other man’s crotch. “Take them off before I tear them off.”

Groaning, Georgi cants his hips so he can slide his pants down his legs, and Yuri’s there helping him, yanking the fabric so hard it crackles- and sweet _lord_ , he never would have imagined this. Nails painted midnight dig into the moonlight skin of his thighs, sculpted from decades of dedication, illuminating the way to a pair of black lace panties, precum straining through the gaps in the stitching. Yuri’s mouth goes dryer than Lilia’s sex life, swallowing thickly as the desire to quench his thirst with Georgi’s milk overwhelms him.

“Wow,” Otabek mutters, observing over his shoulder, thick cock rubbing between the cleft of Yuri’s ass, leaving sticky streaks on his skin. _Wow indeed_. Yuri knew Georgi was weird, but definitely hadn’t chalked him up to be _wearing ladies underwear on the daily_ weird. Hell, it isn’t the act itself that’s strange- Yuri’s dressed up for Otabek plenty of times, even lost his virginity in a powder blue babydoll- it’s just that the panties had come as such a surprise, Yuri didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or moan more.

 _Moan. Definitely moan_ he thinks as he continues to stare, the swell of his balls bulging beneath the fabric, cock straining beneath the little bow on the front- and _shit_. _Shit_ , Yuri’s sure he can see the glint of a piercing peaking out from his foreskin.

Yuri needs it in his mouth.

“Can I?” he asks, verging on begging, tilting his chin with the question. If there’s one thing Otabek hates doing, it’s depriving Yuri of what he wants, but mouthing at another man’s dick through dirty panties might be where he draws the line. Fuck, Yuri’s not sure if he’d let Beka do the same, selfish bastard that he is, but any confliction he harbours vanishes when there’s a tap to his left ass cheek, and he’s sinking to the floor with ardour.

“This is okay, right?” he asks Georgi, because he has to know that this is something he wants, even though they toed the border of no return when the first piece of clothing dropped. Yuri waits with a patience that surprises even him until there’s the hint of nod, a forearm covering his eyes as a whisper of a plea reaches Yuri’s ears.

It’s all the permission he needs, and Yuri’s sinking once again to his knees, breath fanning over the clothed bulge before he places a string of kitten kisses to the wetness at the tip. The noise this lures is both undeniably sexy and much too real, the sigh of a dying man uttering his last confession, pained with unbidden pleasure, rough and raw as he begs both for more and for the inevitable end. It stirs something hot into his bloodstream, a spice only found in the breath of someone consumed by lust, and that’s more than enough reason for Yuri to lick up the length of the covered shaft. There’s something sweet in the saltiness, something Yuri doesn’t want to admit he likes, yet he can’t deny that Georgi tastes good even diluted through a layer of lace.

“Wanna bite?” he asks Beka, who’s silently watching the act whilst stroking his dick. He’s the kind of hard now that Yuri struggle to swallow all the way down, just the sight of his purpling head glistening within the cage of his fingers makes Yuri’s asshole twitch. Seeing the awe in his lover’s eyes, Otabek smirks, shakes his head just once before letting himself go.

“I have something much juicier,” he says with the same monotone timbre he’d use to say he’s replaced the OJ in the fridge- but that just drives Yuri crazier, especially when he drops to his knees and begins kneading his cheeks with intent, spreading them so Yuri’s hole is on display before him and running his tongue where his ass meets his thigh. “Delicious.”

 _Oh sweet lord_ , he knows what’s happening next, toes curling in anticipation as wet heat travels higher, higher, until it’s teasing his rim. Every exhale caresses against sensitive skin as he waits for the madness to begin, and then he’s choking on his own inhale at the first swirl of muscle against puckered muscle, unable to stop the filthy little moans that bubble up his throat.

It’s hard to concentrate on anything but the feeling of Beka eating him out, but he’s still acutely aware of Georgi, fingers twitching against his hip as if he’s unsure whether or not to touch himself, to touch himself to _this_.

So Yuri makes his mind up for him, which is a hard feat when Otabek’s fucking him with his tongue, peeling back the panties to reveal his pale, uncut cock, adorned with a Prince Albert piercing. Really, Yuri has no idea how he’s managed to hide this _monster_ , because it’s nearly as long as Otabek, bent ever so slightly to the left with prominent veins throbbing beneath the surface.

Otabek thrusts deeper, urging Yuri closer until he can’t resist for another second, tongue darting out to collect a bead of precum that’s gathered around the top of the piercing. The metal is cool, a pleasant contrast to the fever that burns under Georgi’s skin, and Yuri’s mind is filled with the obscene desire to feel those silver barbells brushing against his prostate, over and over and over. Yuri’s sure he’d be able to come completely untouched, so sure he’d place money on it. Just the thought of sitting in Georgi’s lap and riding him until he’s sobbing makes his hole clench around Otabek’s tongue.

“Oh _God_ ,” Georgi whimpers, the sentiment ringing in Yuri’s mind as he traces a thick vein up the shaft, puckering his lips around the tip as Beka continues to suck at his rim.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, looking up with hooded eyes as he’s jostled with the intensity of Beka’s mouth. “Tell me what you need, _Papi_.”

It’s a nickname that’s stuck to him with reluctance, given to him by Leo de la Iglesia when they’d all gone out drinking after the Rostelecom Cup a few years back. Before, it had made Georgi blaze with anger, red creeping up his neck like like mercury in a thermometer. Now the blush that blossoms is from the seed of seduction, pretty in the same way Georgi is, poetic and proud. Yuri’s surprised he hasn’t noticed his beauty before, the thick curl of his lashes like calligraphy against parchment skin, strong bones creating contours he inexplicably wants to run his tongue over. A muse deserving of being captured on canvas, trapped in time for the world to behold.

Maybe Yuri had wasted his adolescent youth lusting over the wrong person. Viktor’s eyes were no comparison to skies of twilight, twinkling like low sun through stained glass. God, everywhere he looks, there’s something he hadn’t noticed before. A freckle on his ear lobe, like a lopsided star, a gold chain connected to an emerald that dangles like a pendulum, swaying with the motion of Yuri’s gentle rocking. Yuri should be mesmerised by the dick before him, but he can’t stop tracking the hypnotising movements of the gem whilst Georgi drags in deep, shuddering breaths.

“Blow me.” The command is filthy, barely above a whisper, going against every innocent thing Yuri’s just contemplated, because even Georgi can’t make the lewd request sound lyrical. “Blow me whilst he fucks you. I want to feel you gagging on my dick.”

Licking his lips, Yuri manages a nod, because _God_ he wants that more than anything. Wants to be fucked by two people at once, a toy to be played with, to give pleasure in the most intimate of ways, to be invaded and enveloped and overwhelmed. Wants to feel his throat constricting around that ridiculous piercing, wants the push and pull, the fingers clawing at his hair, his thighs, his neck.

He wants it all and more.

A hot wave of pleasure rolls down his spine and pools in his groin, the little moan that slips past his lips completely unstoppable as Beka relinquishes the warm pressure to his rim. Yuri shimmies his hips in a silent _you better put something in me right now,_ and he’s not disappointed when the first finger enters him.

“We don’t have lube, Yura,” he murmurs, face buried in the small of his back. A series of small kisses torment the jut of his lower spine, teeth scraping where the bone protrudes in a hunger that Yuri can feel with every single movement Otabek makes inside him. When he finally stops his teasing and curls his finger just right, Yuri’s eyes roll into his skull as white hot pleasure causes his dick jolt between his thighs. The small mewling he makes rewards him with a sharp bite to his waist, and Beka begins to use and abuse the bundle of nerves within him to the point where Yuri can’t help but collapse forwards with a wanton moan, almost getting a mouthful of metal and cock- which, _yeah_ , is the ultimate goal, but he’d rather have control over what enters his mouth and when.

“Doesn’t matter,” he pants once he’s back in control, one hand braced on Georgi’s thigh whilst the other gives the pierced dick a few languid pumps before letting it drop back onto his stomach. Grappling behind him, Yuri pries the fingers that are trying their best to meld with his hipbone and draws them to rest against Georgi’s parted lips. “Suck,” he says, and then on an after thought, “And take your goddamn shirt off, Jesus.”

For a moment, Georgi just blinks, going a little cross eyed as he stares at Beka’s tan fingers laying on the swell of his bitten bottom lip. Then he backs away a little, ridding himself of his shirt, earring swaying with all the jostling. Nestled in the hollow of his clavicle is the same pendant he always wears, and through the amethyst there’s a cameo of a woman, familiar with dark curls and a cherry red pout. _Anya_ . It takes only a second for Georgi to become remarkably less attractive, because _how the fuck isn’t he over her yet?_ Anya, who’s engaged to marry that same hockey player she left him for, who has a new life that doesn’t involve flowery, gothic men with too much eyeliner, doused in jasmine perfume, humming a different requiem every day. There’s little beauty in unrequited love when there’s no chance of reciprocation, and the whole _lamenting spirit stuck in relationship purgatory_ thing was getting kind of stale.

“God, you’re pathetic,” Yuri scoffs, flicking the necklace in disgust. Otabek’s motions still inside him, but Yuri’s more focussed on the niggling feeling of disgust at himself for finding Georgi attractive. “Is that why you’re here? She’s practising today, isn’t she? Did you come to creep on her from the sidelines?”

“Shut up.” It’s a tone reserved for the croak of a gargoyle, dead as stone and carrying the weight of a thousand years.

“Is that why you’re in the showers, alone? So you could get off with her fresh in your mind?”

“Yura-”

But he ignores Otabek’s warning tone, the feeling of loss as his fingers are withdrawn, the sharp smart of pain as his ass is pinched in warning. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it, _Papi_? So you could come all over yourself and wash away the evidence of your piteous undoing-”

“I said _shut up_.” Georgi grips his chin so tight he can feel the waning moon imprints of his nails cratering the bone. Yuri’s mind is already scrabbling for excuses to explain the bruises his contusing touch will leave. “God, you’re such a mouthy little brat, full of spite and spit, if only you could find a better use for all that wit.”

Then before he can even comprehend the bastard’s fucking _rhymed_ at him, he crashes their lips together, and Yuri really _is_ finding a better use for all that _spite,_ for that _spit_ , now shared between them in the most intimate of ways. Yuri _wants_ to feel guilty, as guilty as he feels hot with of rage and revulsion, bathed and watered down with over-sensuous arousal- but Otabek would never kiss him like this. Not with anger so fierce and unrelenting, that steals his breath then forces it back upon him until he’s choking, making little gasping moans that invite a bite so hard he can taste blood mixing with the smoky clove that haunts Georgi’s mouth.

When Yuri breaks away, he’s all too aware of the throbbing under his skin, the thin trail of pink tinged saliva dripping down Georgi’s chin, the fact that Beka’s hands were gone completely. Everything's off kilter and wavering- or that might be the fact that Yuri’s can’t seem to catch his breath now that he feels so empty without anyone touching him.

“Beka,” he mewls, twisting so he can glimpse his boyfriend over his shoulder. He’s expecting an expression of betrayal, of disbelief, because Yuri’s sure as fuck there’s a look of ravaged bewilderment, painted with his parted lips and a perplexed paisley stare. Instead he’s greeted with pupils blown wide with arousal, swallowing the depths of his irises like an annular eclipse. And when Yuri trails his gaze downwards, Otabek’s dick is straining in his palm, leaking so much precum it drips to the floor. _Jesus christ_.

“I think you’d better apologise, Yura,” he says, rubbing the head over his rim, down to his perineum, and up again in agonisingly slow strokes. Yuri arches back, craving more pressure, more heat, more _Otabek_ , and when he his entrance is teased once again, he instinctively presses back and everything is taken away. Yuri groans. “Apologise, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, but even a deaf person would be able to hear he didn’t mean it.

“Say it with your mouth,” Georgi urges, grabbing a handful of sweaty hair and guiding Yuri down to him. “You seem to like using it enough.”

Glaring up at him, Yuri tries to ease the straining in his neck but the grip on him is too tight, and he’s stuck there, dick in line with his nose, catching hints of man and musk that are so completely intoxicating, Yuri’s feelings of distaste are replaced with a rush of saliva over his tongue.

“Come on, kitten.” Yuri shudders at the pet name, and Otabek’s breath dances on the back of his neck before he caresses the shell of his ear with his tongue, dipping behind the lobe in the way he knows will make Yuri absolutely obedient. “Show him how well you apologise.”

So Yuri does, sucking the head into his mouth and getting used to the feel of another man’s pierced cock, how it feels on the flat of his tongue, pushing into the side of his cheek, travelling deeper and deeper down his throat until he’s gagging around the foreign feel of it. Somewhere in his exploration, he glances up to see Beka’s fingers knuckle deep in Georgi’s mouth, the combined sound of their suckling explicitly vulgar as it bounces off the walls.  And then there’s the familiar stretch of himself being worked open, fast and much too vigorous to be careful. Normally, Beka takes care of him so gently, swallowing the soft noises Yuri makes, nipping at his ears, his neck until he’s mewling out to _just fucking fuck me already fuck._ Now those noises were being squashed into something that resembles a gurgle, not nearly as attractive as the high pitched keening that normally escapes him, and Beka opens him relentlessly, his eagerness showing in the burn of _too much too soon_.

“Feel good?” Otabek asks, and Yuri’s about to nod, tears clouding his vision, when Georgi let’s out a stuttering _y-yeah_. “Tell him how he makes you feel.”

 _That fucking asshole._ A surge of blood rushes to Yuri’s already straining dick, and he jerks forwards in an attempt to find friction that isn’t there. Whimpers evolve into straight up choked sobs as Otabek finally, finally, pushes in, just the tip at first, flirting with his rim as he dips in then out in a promise of what’s to come. When Yuri’s sure he’s going to die of anticipation, Beka buries himself to the hilt, gently caressing his sides, his stomach, as a distraction, stubbled cheek rubbing into his shoulder.

There’s always a slight sting when Otabek settles all the way inside him, the deepest kind of stretch not even the most complex of his yoga positions could ever dream to achieve, and it still feels like the first time, even after all the hours Yuri’s spent sat on that massive cock. It quickly fades into something warm, buzzing through his blood as if Beka’s pumped him full of carbon dioxide, every nerve ending alive and alert, ready to feel and be felt.

When Otabek’s hips shift against his ass, Yuri takes a moment just to indulge in the feeling of being full, the kind of full he’s only ever felt with Otabek inside him- no amount of fingers, no toy, could ever compare. Sucking off Georgi’s cock, he looks over his shoulder to admire the start of the unravelling of his beautiful, stoic boyfriend. Damp curls cling to his forehead, wisping around ears flushed red at the tips. There’s a familiar sheen to his skin, golden like his name and radiant like the sun, the kind that only fully dawns when an orgasm is on the horizon, and he can feel it rising from the heat spreading within him. _I want to kiss him_. It’s a sappy thought, and not one he can pursue right now, so instead, he settles for second best. He whispers, “Fuck me.”

When Otabek rolls his hips, Yuri’s eyes roll too, fingers clawing at Georgi’s thigh as a punishing pace is set, nothing like the intense, tender love making he prefers. It’s fast, frantic, the slap of balls against thighs absolutely filthy as Yuri’s pushed closer to the edge and closer to Georgi’s cock. A hand guides him back down to the head, and it’s so hard to concentrate on anything but the brutal feeling of his prostate being absolutely abused but he manages to suck on the tip, metal clacking against his molars.

“Tell him how perfect he is, how beautiful his pretty little mouth looks wrapped around your cock.” There’s a strain to his voice that transforms it into this ragged, raw husk, and God, he’d do anything Otabek asked just as long as he could hear it in that sultry song. But hearing praise, those little compliments wrapped up in words of gravel- it’s almost enough to cause his undoing, one glorifying syllable at a time. “How sexy his hair looks all roughed up and ruined. How beautiful his eyes are with tears hanging from his lashes.”

But Georgi’s crying too, head thrown back against the wall as he ruts into Yuri’s awaiting mouth, unable to say anything but a confusion of nonsensical curses and a twisted garble of their names. When it all gets too much, the ferocity of being fucked from two angles blurring his vision both through lack of oxygen and a sensory haze, Yuri grabs for something, anything that can tether him to the here and now. It’s the goddamn pendant, the amethyst facets digging into his palm, a prick of pain that heightens the sensations as if they were being injected straight into his bloodstream.

And then Georgi’s yanking at his hair, and Yuri’s choking as his throat is fucked relentlessly, and it really shouldn’t feel this good, yet it does.  A strangled caw of a dying bird breaks through the symphony of skin and saliva, and there’s a fleeting moment of panic as Yuri’s held down, nails scraping against his scalp, nose jabbed into hairless skin, and he’s grappling at the necklace for leverage until the chain snaps, clattering to the floor.

“I-I-I’m-” and Yuri’s sliding back so just the tip rests against his lips, tongue flicking over the slit as the first shot of cum coats the back of his throat, hot and bittersweet, and he swallows with vigour. Georgi’s hips stutter once, _twice_ , until his cock is spent and softening, but Yuri continues to suckle, milking it completely dry and bathing the flesh with eager strokes until he’s whimpering with oversensitivity. Yuri can feel the dribble of semen and spit leaking down his chin, can feel the grip on his hair loosening to smooth it away with gentle touches that feel all too caring after the beating his throat’s just taken, can hear the muttered _shit_ as Georgi slips from his mouth, dick flushed and flaccid, slapping against his thigh. It glistens slightly in the harsh artificial lighting, a solar flare glaring from the barbell, and Yuri barely has time to glance up, to feel smug over the depiction of bliss painted with sweat and limp hair on Georgi’s forehead, before Otabek shifts his hips, and the angle changes.

Oh. _Oh_. Each thrust brushes against his prostate in a way that’s not meant to make him last, eyes closing against his will as bright light blossoms like a supernova in the darkness behind his lids. Fingers skim his sides, trailing down the taut muscles in his arms that tremble from overexertion, strums his nails over his ribs until Yuri’s crying out, discordant and dissonant like an instrument left untuned.

“My Yura, so perfect, so good.” Otabek traces his navel with lazy circles, imitating the motion with the grinding of his hips. Yuri’s so close now, on the brink of falling into oblivion, and he _knows_ Beka aware, knows that he’s delaying the inevitable when he gently squeezes his balls, rolling them agonisingly in his palm, aching in their tightness, their readiness to release, and he just needs  _something_ more.

“Please, Beka,” he cries, arching back into him, wanting more- _needing_ more. “Please. Make me come. _Please_.”

There’s a growl, and all it takes is a sweep against the hard peak of his nipples, one pump to his leaking dick and he’s spilling into Beka’s hand, shuddering and gasping as he clenches around his cock, writhing as calloused skin works every last drop from him. Yuri manages one last hoarse cry as his sore slit is skimmed before he slumps forwards, head in Georgi’s lap, trying to catch his breath.

Kisses are sucked into his shoulder, where his neck blends into his collar, the juncture of his jaw, all grazing teeth and soothing tongue that diminishes sparks of pain before they can burn, a small distraction as Yuri’s fucked into overstimulation. Everything _hurts_ : his knees, bitten with the imprint of cold tiles, throat gritty and hoarse as his breath is forced from him with each thrust, lips puffy and swollen with the lingering taste of another man. Otabek’s still working him despite his desperate pleas, buried into the flesh of Georgi’s thigh.

“You’re so beautiful when you come undone, kitten,” he murmurs, holding his hair so he can place a delicate kiss to his nape. It’s a shocking contrast to the punishing pace of his penetration, and Yuri mewls as even after his orgasm he can feel heat pooling in his groin as his prostate is continuously teased. “You make the most delicious sounds.” Another kiss, and Yuri can feel the stickiness of his release as Beka smoothes a hand over his stomach, hitching him closer. “So good to me.”

Hair falls around him in damp waves as it’s released, and a nipple, stiff and sensitive, is rolled between deft fingers. “You look so pretty on my cock. Can you come again for me, kitten?”

Yuri doesn’t know, doesn’t want to think, every thought slipping away with the blood that flows to his dick. His insides coil, already tensing in apprehension, and although it rarely happens, Yuri knows he could come again, just as long as Otabek speaks to him like that, keeps touching his chest, keeps using that pattern of long, hard strokes and gentle caresses to the bundle of nerves within him.

“ _Enchanting_.” It isn’t Beka who says this, but Georgi, running his fingers through Yuri’s hair in silent encouragement, tracing the curve of his cupid’s bow, wiping the remnants of his own come from Yuri’s chin. Georgi’s own dick is still soft, close to Yuri’s cheek, and he can see a fragment of his reflection distorted in the metal, a smudge of quivering rose gold.

“Love you.” Yuri knows, can feel it in every caress, every shuddering breath that cools the sweat on his neck. “Love seeing you like this.” He wishes he could see him, could look into the depths of his dark eyes, see his own fucked-out bliss reflecting back at him instead of in the cold glint of metal. Wishes he could rake his nails into the muscles of his back, could wrap his legs around his waist, anchoring him tighter. More than anything, he wants to feel Beka’s lips on his, bruising and brilliant, inhaling Yuri’s pleasure and exhaling his own. Just the thought makes Yuri clench around him, and there’s a grunt of _feels so good kitten_ , shortly followed by a slurred _gonna come_ before he falters. One last thrust and Otabek’s coming deep within him, his signature, strangled sigh ghosting over Yuri’s skin. It’s a noise that’s only ever exposed through great sex and, sometimes, great food, so it certainly helps that Yuri fits into both of these categories.

The feel of Otabek releasing inside him is enough to send Yuri over the edge again, clenching and clawing at anything he can sink his nails into, crying as the border between pleasure and pain blurs into something hard to distinguish. It feels good, being filled up with Beka’s seed, but the few, weak spurts that leak from his cock almost feel acidic as they drip to the floor. For a moment, Yuri blacks out, the only thing stopping him from collapsing into his own release the steady hands gripping his pelvis, and then Beka’s pulling out, taking him to his chest, rocking him whilst murmuring in lilting Kazakh lullabies. _My heart. My soul. My love._ Every phrase is punctuated with the flutter of eyelashes against cheeks, nose nuzzling the paper thin skin of his eyelids.

The tender moment is quickly ruined when Yuri feels trickling down the backs of his thighs, face scrunching as he wipes at it with the back of his hand. “Ew.”

Otabek’s chuckle vibrates through them, hand wrapping around Yuri’s delicate wrist so he can bring the slick skin to his mouth. It’s filthy, watching Otabek lick his own release, tongue lapping over the blue veins between his knuckles, the ticklish gaps between his fingers. Yet Yuri’s giggling, drunk on the afterglow, snuggling deeper into the crook of Otabek’s as he pecks the tip of every finger, chews on the nail of his thumb.

“Did that really just happen?” he asks, sucking at Beka’s fluttering pulse. “Did we just do that?”

The question seems to break something within Georgi, because there’s a cry reminiscent of what brought them into this situation, and he’s on his feet, scrabbling for his clothes. The pants he pulls on has an obvious damp stain at the crotch, the shirt being no better, splattered with Yuri’s cum. _I should say something,_  but ultimately he doesn’t, because he’s kind of pissed that Georgi’s just gonna _come and go_ without even so much as a thanks.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, _Papi_?” he tries to snarl, but he’s too worn out to carry more than a kitten’s bite of bitterness. Beka hums in his ear, more to soothe than to warn him. Georgi offers them one last withering look before he’s fleeing.

Yuri can’t help but stare at his ass as it disappears around the corner.

*

“He’d be hot if it wasn’t for his inability to let go of the past,” Yuri muses, water rolling down the rivets of his spine. Otabek’s washing his body with the only shower gel they could find, some floral shit Mila had given him that smells a little too much like the jasmine Georgi drowns himself in. His touch is gentle, considerate of every ache, every pinch of tightness in his overworked muscles, and Yuri presses himself closer, basking in the warmth that radiates off his skin.

“Have I got competition now?” Otabek asks, stealing a kiss as tentative fingers massage Yuri’s tender hole. In the past he would be embarrassed by how Beka took care of him after sex, the cleanup and afterglow just as important as the orgasm in his eyes. Now, Yuri finds it awfully endearing, a little piece of Beka he still gets to treasure as his own- he wouldn’t share these moments with anyone.

“Never,” Yuri promises, and it’s true. Nothing compares to the strength of his love, threatening to break through his skin with every absentminded touch, every graze of his lips. It’s something he hadn’t felt before meeting him, something he doesn’t think he’d ever be able to experience with anyone else. Being with Georgi just seems to prove it more. The introduction of a third party was thrilling and fun, but ultimately was nothing in contrast to lazy days off spent entangled in limbs and leisure, to long nights of shattering orgasms, of soiled sheets and sweet sighs swallowed with hungry kisses.

“Hmm,” he muses as Yuri’s hand snakes between them, gently washing Otabek’s soft dick, still incredibly big in his the loose grasp of his fist. Yuri will never admit it, there’s nothing more appealing to him than seeing Beka’s long length limp against his thigh, a promise of its true size. “You owe me a thousand ruble.”

“Why?” he snorts, removing his hand to swat at the toned muscles of Otabek’s abdominals.

“Georgi obviously isn’t as straight as you thought he was.”

“What do you-? _Oh_ .” The bet, one they had drunkenly made the night Otabek had moved to St Petersburg. After spending the entire day with _Team Russia_ shifting furniture and Yuri’s collection of cat print possessions, they’d indulge in slow sofa sex whilst commenting on the day’s happenings. Otabek said he’d caught Georgi sneaking glances at Yuri’s ass in his studded, denim hotpants. Yuri had said to  _shut up and fuck me, goddamn it_ , pointedly kicking off those same shorts and sitting half naked, half hard in Beka’s lap. _Georgi’s straighter than my standing split._ After Yuri’s third orgasm, all before _Careless Whisper_ crooned at him during the _Deadpool_ credits, the bet had been made just as long as Beka would  _shut the fuck up about it already, fuck._

Now Yuri snorts as the realisation hits him. Maybe Beka wasn’t quite as into exhibitionism as he first thought. “Did you seriously agree to this just to make a little extra?”

At least Otabek has the decency to blush, hiding his face in Yuri’s hair. “I told you he was checking you out.”

Yuri simply scoffs grabbing overflowing handfuls of Beka’s ass and holding him closer. Something glistening catches his eye, and after he works a fresh bruise on the hollow of Otabek’s throat, he goes to inspect it.

It’s Georgi’s pendant, chain disappearing down the drain swimming in floral scented lather. Yuri plucks it up, holding it far away from him as if contagious. A splice of spite spikes Yuri’s blood, remembering how Georgi left them, how Georgi ran away from what they’d shared, and he tears open the clasp, allowing water to disfigure Anya’s face, to bleed and tear and shrivel until there’s nothing but the soggy remains of a memory swimming in his palm.

 _Beka’s right_ , Yuri thinks, lifting his hair in a silent gesture that Otabek seems to understand. The pendant feels like a cold victory nestled between the dip of his collarbones, a battle trophy for all to see, if they only chose to look. _Georgi isn’t as straight as he seems_.

*

**Author's Note:**

> I know y'all are waiting for Spark ch11, it's being written, it will definitely be here before the 8th because no way in hell am I gonna let there be a month in between updates.
> 
> For now, I hope you at least enjoyed the first ever fic in the OtaPliPo tag 
> 
> This was so so hard to write, I hope I haven't disappointed anyone :L
> 
> See you later this week with the update you're all desiring 
> 
> xoxo Cat
> 
> (please don't hate me in the comments i hate myself enough for this at it is)
> 
> (p.s part of this was written in church i am going to hell)
> 
> come find me on tumblr  
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ Papivich (oh yes i fucking went THERE)](http://papivich.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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